The Bricklayer - Boyd Noah (читать хорошую книгу полностью .txt) 📗

Then someone asked, “Was there any connection between the suicide and the unsolved murders committed by the Rubaco Pentad?”

Again the SAC looked at Kaulcrick, who gave no indication that he had even heard the question. “No, there was absolutely no connection,” Hildebrand said. “I’m sorry, I’m late for another meeting.”

The reporters, smelling blood in the water, fired their questions on top of each other as the SAC picked up his notes and hurried out of the room.

FIFTEEN

AT NINE O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, VAIL TAPPED ON TYE DELSON’S office door before pushing it open. She was leaning over a half-dozen law books that covered her desk, lost in her reading. “You got a minute?”

She looked up, and it took a moment for her to remember where she was. “Oh, Steve, sorry. I was trying to figure out something.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no. Shut the door, will you. I could use a break.” She shoved up the window behind her desk until it was completely open, drew a cigarette, and lit it. “Please, sit down.” She sat down on the sill.

“You’ve heard, I assume.”

“About Stan, yes. They called me for a legal opinion for a search of the house and car. After the fact, I’m guessing.”

“What do you think about Bertok’s involvement now?”

“If you remember, the first time we met I told you I didn’t think he could be involved in any murders. They said he shot at you. I guess I’ve always been better with books than people.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. I want to ask you a people question—which has to stay in the room.”

She took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke pensively. “That seems to be a standard tagline to any conversation with you.”

“Does that mean you want to go back to your law books?”

“God, no,” she said. “Please, I’m begging you, implicate me.”

“I’m not sure that this extortion was a one-man job.”

“There’s an awful lot of happy FBI bosses who think otherwise.”

“Self-congratulating management—is there any bigger canary in the mine that something is wrong?”

“I wouldn’t argue with that,” she said. “Do you have any proof?”

“The timing at the tunnel isn’t right.”

“Are you sure? Stress can distort time, especially when you’re going through something as sensory depriving as you did.”

“I’m not talking just about inside the tunnel. I checked all the logs, the time that the GPS started away from the tunnel, and the time of the explosion when I blew open the hatch. Last night, I went back out there and timed the walk from the tunnel to where the truck was intercepted. Anyone coming back from that would have run into the surveillance agents. And whoever it was would have had to come back to pick up the money.”

“So you think Bertok had a partner?”

“One person couldn’t have done it alone, no. So, is there anyone you know that could have been in this with Bertok, if it was Bertok?”

“If it was.”

Vail chose not to explain. “Yes, if it was.”

“Well, you’re the guy he was shooting at, so if you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, who am I to argue? I assume you mean someone in the FBI.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you asking me instead of people at the Bureau?”

“I don’t want anyone there to know that I’m not buying the Bertok-alone theory. That’s why I want this kept quiet for now.”

“If you have doubts about his involvement, why another agent?”

“I’ve taken a look at Bertok’s phone records. There were no calls to anyone other than his brother in Minnesota, and his ex-wives both here and in Arizona. That suggests someone he had regular contact with, like at work. Again, that’s why I’m here; I don’t want to ask the wrong person in the office.”

Tye took a long drag on her cigarette. “I hate to point any fingers, but there is one person Bertok worked with on occasion. Vince Pendaran. And he is sort of connected to the enemies list.”

“How?”

“The first victim—Connie Lysander, a former reporter turned whistle-blower. You know about her?”

“Just what’s in the file.”

“She made a lot of allegations around here, most of which were false. However, there were some firings, most notably the United States attorney, who was a good guy. There were also some suspensions, one of which was Pendaran for using the services of prostitutes. I don’t know why he wasn’t fired. He seems to be one of these guys who continually fall through the cracks.”

“What’s he like?”

“Different. He worked undercover until he got caught stealing from a UC project. Again, I don’t know why he wasn’t fired. Instead, they transferred him to Bertok’s squad. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, it’s a dumping ground for problems in the office. The word is that the supervisor, Allen Sabine, never complains, so they keep handing him the problem children. Anyway, Pendaran came up here a couple of times with Stan when they needed the okay for an arrest that was a little shaky. There’s something about the way he looks at you. I don’t know, it’s cold, like he’s trying to figure out where your buttons are. I’d see him at parties. Very taciturn until he got the requisite number of drinks in him, which I think was one. Then you’d find his hand on your ass. Everyone pretty much treated him like he had the plague, you know, an OPR incident looking for a place to land. That is, everybody but Bertok. For some reason Pendaran seemed to respond to him. You know, Stan could get him to do some work even if it was only as his gofer. And to a degree, socially as well. He’d take the effort to drag him into conversations at office functions. I guess even the most downtrodden needs the occasional project to ensure there’s at least one person below him on the food chain.”

Vail’s cell phone rang. It was Kate. “We just got word. They matched Bertok’s gun to the four victims and the shooting yesterday.”

“Does that include the shell casing from the third murder?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why is that important?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. Will you be available to take a ride a little later?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you in an hour or two.” Vail hung up. “As you could probably tell from that call, they matched Bertok’s gun to everything from the first homicide to yesterday’s shooting.”

“Then are you still interested in Pendaran?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting,” she said. “I assume you’d prefer someplace away from the office to converse with him.”

“Like where?”

“It came out during the Lysander expose, his trips to professional ladies were almost daily. That’s why he was so easy for her, and OPR, to catch. The names and addresses are in the DOJ file.”

“Where is that kept?”

She stubbed out her cigarette on the outside sill, tossed the butt into the six-story air shaft, and pulled the window closed. She sat down at her desk and typed on her keyboard. “I obtained a copy of it for my own private edification, trying to find a loophole for the old United States attorney when he was under fire for not properly leading the troops. Unfortunately, like the FBI, we have strict rules about showing files to outside agencies, so you can’t see this.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m going to lunch. Do me a favor when you leave, shut down my computer.”

“I owe you one, Tye.”

“That’s a funny thing, Agent Vail. I keep hearing that around here, but no one ever seems to pay up. Care to be a trendsetter?”

Vail smiled noncommittally and watched as that vague loneliness seeped back into her eyes.

AS VINCE PENDARAN exited the Swedish Academy of Massage and walked to his Bureau car, Vail watched him, trying to decide whether his gait was the same as that of the man who had walked into the house on Spring Street the day before. As he put the key in the lock, Vail walked up behind him silently and measured his height and weight. “I guess you don’t have to worry about going to these places now that Connie Lysander is dead.”